“Don’t forget your things,” Meg said.
“Oh, hurry!” said Jo.
They bumped and shuffled along the weathered walkway, Meg with her mat, Trey and Jo carrying the cooler between them. And then the dunes crested and fell away. The sand tumbled to the shining sea, stretching to the curving horizon. White foam curled and sparkled on the waves. Happy little clouds floated across the sky. Amy caught her breath, wishing she had the talent to paint it all.
“Come on!” Jo said.
They trudged over the hot sand past the lifeguard station, setting up camp on a broad, nearly empty stretch of sand near the water’s edge.
Meg promptly oiled herself and spread out on her bamboo mat to get the full effect of the sun. Beth tucked the corners of the big beach blanket in the sand to secure them against the wind. Jo and Trey ran, whooping, to the water, plunging through the surf into the waves. Amy followed them. But the water was cold. The tide was too rough. She was not that strong a swimmer.
After being pummeled, dragged, and dunked by the waves, she retreated to the blanket and her sketchbook, her hair a salty wet tangle. Beth wandered the shoreline, collecting shells as Jo and Trey played in the water, sleek as otters. Amy pushed her hair from her eyes, determined to capture the scene in front of her, everything alive with color, light, and movement.
But it was no good. She was no good. After a few attempts, she stopped, frustrated by her failure to draw what she saw. What she felt. Maybe if she’d brought watercolors with her, or chalk... She was sure she could do better. If only she were old enough for oil paints!
She doodled in the margins—a silly crab with elongated eyestalks, a cartoon gull in a sunbonnet. But Mrs. Wilson said she would never be a real artist if she didn’t take her art seriously. Mrs. Wilson said that the study of the human form was the best way to learn how to draw.
Amy flipped a page and started to sketch Meg, motionless on her mat. Meg had curves. Real breasts, instead of mosquito bumps. Amystuck her tongue between her teeth, dividing her sister into lines and shapes as if she were assembling a quilt.
Jo staggered from the surf and collapsed, dripping, on the blanket, reaching with one arm for the cooler.
Amy shrieked, covering her sketchbook. “You’re getting my paper wet!”
“Relax. I just want food. I’m starving.”
“Why don’t we all eat lunch?” Meg suggested. She stood and called down the beach. “Beth! Bethie! Lunchtime!”
“Whatcha drawing?” Trey asked, leaning close to see. A single drop of water slid from his nose and plopped onto the page. “Is that Meg? Nice.”
Amy brushed the drop away, angling her paper so he could see. “Do you really think so?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yeah. Looks just like her.” He smiled, and her heart melted like chocolate in the sun.
Beth returned with her treasures. The four sisters and Trey sat around the cooler, eating gritty peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, balancing their drinks in the sand.
“Everything tastes better at the beach,” Beth said with a contented sigh.
Jo stuffed a cookie into her mouth. “Because we worked up an appetite.”
Amy licked Cheetos crumbs from her fingertips, hoping she wouldn’t leave orange smudges on her paper.
Trey tossed a chip to a hovering gull.
“Don’t feed it,” Meg warned. “You’ll only attract more.”
“Too late,” Jo said as four more gulls swooped on the scene. She stood, scattering birds and sand. “Who wants to go swimming?”
“You should wait an hour before you go into the water,” Meg said.
“Fine.” She flopped back down on her stomach, rummaging in the beach bag for her book.
Trey angled his head to peer at the cover. “Frankenstein,” he read aloud.
“It’s on our summer reading list,” Jo said. She and Trey were in AP English together. “Haven’t you started it yet?”
“I watched the movie.”
Jo snorted. Trey rolled to his back, linking his hands beneath his head. “Man, this is the life,” he said contentedly, gazing up at the sky. “We should do this every day.”
